


Revolver

by akamine_chan



Category: Canadian Actor RPF (C6D)
Genre: M/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Callum wonders where he ends and Billy begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revolver

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tara Keezer, Yuletide Treasures 2008
> 
> Many, many thanks and hugs and kisses to my two great betas, Nos4a2no9 and Simplystars, for showing me where I was going with this story. I was lost and floundering and they showed me the way. Love you two! Also, this couldn't have been written without Hard Core Roadshow - thanks, Noel!

_Q : What was the first album you ever owned?  
A: Revolver by the Beatles_

* * *

## Taxman

_Dear Mr. Rennie -  
We regret to inform you that you have been selected by the Canada Revenue Agency for an audit of your business dealings for the tax year of 2005. Please contact our office promptly to make arrangements to gather the appropriate documents and records for this audit.  
     Sincerely,  
     Serbinski, Rosen, Young and Associates, Chartered Accountants_

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Cal balls the letter up and throws it across the room angrily, unsurprised when it misses the trash can. It's been that kind of week. It looked like it was going to be that kind of year.

He spends the rest of the day ransacking his office for his financial records. He thought he'd organized them before boxing them up and putting them away, once the accountants had finished with them. Apparently not.

He does find a box shoved to the back of the closet, sealed with packing tape and 'HCL' scribbled across the top. It reminds him that it's been a few months since he'd last talked to Hugh.

He pulls it out and carries it to the living room, setting it down carefully on the coffee table.

Cal studiously ignores the box for a while, pretending it doesn't exist, not quite ready to open it up and sift through the memories in there, pressed between the pages of his life.

The best fucking times, and some of the worst.

* * *

## I Want To Tell You

_Knock Knock_ has got to be the most boring movie Callum's ever seen. Too much film-school artiste, not enough substance. Bruce as a happy-go-lucky scamp of a guerrilla filmmaker. It's disturbing on so many levels.

It doesn't help that Hugh keeps making bitingly funny remarks about Bruce, about the movie, about Noel, who sits behind them, radiating disapproval. They ignore him, sitting close, pushing into each other's space.

Hugh starts making little shadow puppets on the screen, adding his own unique and obscene interpretation of the film. Cal watches as Hugh bends one shadow over and mimics fucking, complete with sound effects.

It reminds him of the last time they were together, in that shitty little hotel in Edmonton, and he squirms a little in his seat, remembering how hard Hugh had kissed him, cutting his lip. They'd been rough with each other that night, not knowing when they'd see each other again.

Cal had woken alone the next morning, bruises in the shape of wide-spaced fingers on his hips, his arms. He was sure he'd left his share of marks on Hugh, _bite marks on his neck and shoulders, scratches on his back_, so he figured they were even.

Later the three of them go to a diner and talk for hours. Hugh tells road stories from his seemingly endless collection, with Noel alternately disgusted and fascinated by a musician's life on tour.

Cal's heard all of Hugh's stories, and he's seen Hugh's life firsthand. It's a life of groupies, booze and coke, the typical sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll, with a lot of hangovers, STDs and ODs thrown in for free. It's a life that flirts on the edge and Cal doesn't understand how Hugh can do it.

He doesn't know how _he_ did it, either. He just remembers what pulled him away from that long drop into nothing.

They're crammed into a vinyl corner booth and under the table Hugh squeezes his thigh. Cal pushes his hand away and tries to stay focused on the conversation. Noel's talking about the script, about Turner's original book, and they discuss how Hugh's real-life experiences differ. Callum finds himself unwillingly fascinated by the script-writing process and quizzes Noel about artistic intent and the line between creativity and commercialism.

Hugh rants for a bit about selling out and then grows bored with the whole subject. He starts flirting with their waitress, which amuses Cal.

Noel finally takes a cab home and they sit there, drinking their shitty diner coffee, smoking cigarettes and talking about the upcoming filming schedule. Hugh starts trying to sneak his hand into Cal's lap, intently staring at Cal's lips, as if he were imagining Cal's mouth wrapped around his dick. He probably is.

Cal teases him by slowly licking his lips. Repeatedly.

Reaching the end of his patience, Hugh growls and hustles Cal into the men's room, pushing him down hard and unzipping his jeans, shoving his cock towards Cal's open mouth. "Suck me."

Laughing, feeling smug, he rolls a condom on Hugh and swallows him down.

* * *

## Good Day Sunshine

Callum spends a while playing with Hugh's newly shorn hair. Hugh had shaved the sides and left a ruff of hair down the middle; a retro Mohawk that Cal couldn't keep his fingers out of. It was soft and silky and endlessly fascinating, the way it almost stood up on its own.

"Enough, Rennie, trying to sleep here," Hugh mumbles, rolling over and pulling Cal into his arms. In minutes, Hugh is snoring softly. Cal pets the dark hair once more before pillowing his hands under his head and staring at the ceiling.

It's been a long day in a series of long days and it isn't going to get better. Once the actual filming starts, the pace will be brutal. Eighteen days of principal photography, working twelve to sixteen to twenty hour days, running on nothing but caffeine and nicotine.

Cal is tired, but not sleepy. He'll be exhausted tomorrow night, but for now, he analyzes his character and how he interacts with the world around him. What were Billy's motivations? Was he as manipulative as he seemed? Did he really want to be a true musician, or was he in it for the fame and fortune?

In time, Cal drifts off, slipping into confused dreams of guitars and guns.

The next day he lets Noel into the recording studio as Hugh belts out the vocals for 'Something's Gonna Die Tonight' in true Headstones fashion. It is rough and edgy and Callum finds himself buying into the mythos of Hard Core Logo for the first time.

Hugh comes out of the studio bouncing and sweating, energized by the music. It sounded good, real good, and they listened to the rest of the tracks. Hugh's enthusiasm was contagious and before long Cal can see the how the movie would work with the high energy music woven through it.

Noel tells them about some finance fuck-up and it pisses Cal off. Too much of a delay and he'll have to bow out due to his commitment in Winnipeg. And now, he _wants_ this, he wants Joe and Billy and Hard Core Logo.

Hugh squeezes his arm and they bitch about the bean-counters and money people for a while.

Noel pulls out copies of the script and they work on some of the sections. Cal is terribly amused by Hugh's sudden display of nitpicky-ness: "I would never say that." Noel tries to argue with him; it's not _Hugh_ who says those lines, it's _Joe_. Hugh just stares at him stonily until Noel throws up his hands in exasperation.

They close the bar down, and send Noel off in a taxi before heading back to Hugh's place. Cal is still feeling frustrated and angry by the thought of losing Hard Core Logo, and Hugh knows it.

"What are you gonna do if they dump the movie, huh? Go back to Hollywood with your tail between your legs?" Hugh sneers, lighting a cigarette. "You're such a pussy."

Cal flips him the bird. "Fuck you, Dillon."

"Event better, go back to Vancouver and your bit parts. Kinda hard to learn your fucking craft but then—"

Cal explodes and throws him up against the door, plastering himself against Hugh's chest and kissing him brutally.

Hugh shoves him away after a moment and grins. "What do you want?"

Callum roughly shoves him around and undoes Hugh's pants, letting them slide to the floor. He always keeps lube and condoms in his jacket pocket these days; some slick and he slides into Hugh with two fingers, hearing him grunt a little.

Hugh pushes back and growls, "Now, now, now!"

Cal scrambles to undo his own pants, egged on by Hugh's husky voice saying, "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."

Cal does. He fucks Hugh hard, making the door rattle. Hugh's neighbors are probably going to complain, but he can't find it in himself to care. All he cares about is the way Hugh feels around him, hot and tight, and the whimper-gasp-moan he makes every time Cal slams in.

It doesn't take long, as wound up as he is. He comes hard enough that he's got spots in front of his eyes and he collapses against Hugh's back, panting loudly. Hugh's still grinding back against him, his voice sounding increasingly desperate, "C'mon, Cal, c'mon, I gotta come, gotta—"

Pulling himself together, he reaches around and grabs Hugh's cock and starts to work him roughly, whispering how good Hugh feels in his hand, how hot and hard and...it doesn't take long for Hugh, either.

In the morning, Hugh drops him off at the airport so Cal can catch his flight back to Winnipeg. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Rennie."

Cal looks at Hugh's smart-ass grin and shakes his head. "Fuck you." He has to bite his lip to hold back his own smile.

"You wish." Hugh pulls him into a tight hug, squeezing him for a moment before letting him go.

He heads into the airport terminal. He doesn't let himself look back.

* * *

## And Your Bird Can Sing

Callum hates band rehearsal.

He doesn't like pretending to play the guitar, shifting his body to hide his non-existent fretwork. It feels awkward and stupid, graceless and obvious. He envies Bernie, who at least _knows_ how to play the drums. But Pyper and him, they're clueless and trying to hide it. The more he tries to pretend, the more he's sure that everyone can see right through him.

His guitar coach tries to get him to relax, to let the music move him in the right direction, but Cal's too self-conscious and can't let go. As the session drags on, he gets more and more wound up, feeling like a total fuck-up.

Eventually, Hugh drags him into the alley outside of the studio and falls to his knees, unzipping Callum's pants and pulling out his cock. It's the fastest blowjob Cal's ever gotten, but just because he's fast doesn't mean that Hugh stints on quality.

Cal braces himself on rubbery legs while Hugh cleans him up and puts him away, then drags him back into the studio. With his tension gone, Cal's a natural axe-man. Hugh grins at him for the rest of the evening.

* * *

## She Said She Said

The scene goes well. Joe and the journalist snark back and forth at each other, talking about the band, where it's going and Billy's place in it. Joe doesn't even try to hide his resentment and jealousy; instead, he focuses those emotions on the hapless journalist.

That night, back in their motel, Hugh wants to talk about Billy and Joe's twisted, co-dependent relationship after they fuck. They're panting, sweaty and covered in come, and all Hugh wants to do is argue about whether Joe's as much of an asshole as he seems, and whether Billy fucks Joe over on purpose. Cal grunts and lets him ramble on until he falls asleep.

Callum wakes from a sound sleep, gasping as he suddenly realizes that Hugh thinks he's Joe, and that Cal is Billy. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Reality and art have just slipped disjointed and subtly combined in a way that he doubts he's ever going to be able to sort out.

They're so screwed.

* * *

## Doctor Robert

Callum had some fond memories of the Commodore Ballroom. Memories of local punk bands, of getting drunk and hitting on skanky chicks, of trying to pick up hot guys in black eyeliner. Sexy memories of blowjobs in the bathroom, in the alley outside, in cars and anywhere else they could find.

His other memories weren't so clear. Sometimes he was sure he'd spent most of his adult life in an alcoholic haze. It wasn't a pretty thought; God only knows what he's done while under the influence.

Alcohol had been his main drug, but here at the Commodore, he'd tried many more. He'd always gone back to the booze.

They filmed the benefit concert scene on stage, the almost hostile audience jeering at them, mocking them for not being a 'real' band. Callum didn't care; he wasn't a musician, he was an actor. Still, it was rough, and by the time they were done, tempers were running high. Hugh's ad-lib of "You don't know shit from good chocolate, babies!" hadn't helped, either.

As they were finishing up for the night, he snapped at Hugh, annoyed by the energy still thrumming through his solid, sweating body. Hugh snarked back and took off with the rest of the crew to a bar while Cal slunk back to the hotel.

He called his sponsor that night, feeling like he was on the edge, desperately needing to hear an empathetic voice.

* * *

## Yellow Submarine

The goat's name is Rainbow and Cal never imagined himself learning how to wrestle a goat gently to the ground. Apparently he lacked vision.

Everyone is dressed in their finest freak wear, a bonfire is built and Bruce goes about creating a metaphor-laden acid trip for the band. Honestly, Cal isn't really impressed. He's tired, cold and hungry, covered in fake blood and has to pretend to help Bernie saw an innocent goat in half with a chainsaw.

In the back of his mind, he's still dwelling on the brief moment when he was sure that Hugh had gotten hurt by the blood-packs and squibs earlier in the evening.

He tries not to think about it.

* * *

## I'm Only Sleeping

"I'm tired of wakin' up tired, wakin' up tired..."

They both sound exhausted as they sing quietly, crammed into the goat van, shooting the same scene over and over.

They're not even two weeks into the shoot and Cal's tired. Emotionally, mentally, physically. This has been the hardest, most draining role he's ever taken on.

Cal's tired, and he just wants to go home and sleep in his own bed.

* * *

## Eleanor Rigby

Callum is glad he's in Winnipeg when they film the the end of the movie, the climatic scene where Joe kills himself. There are still six days of shooting left and he doesn't think he can handle being there in person, watching Hugh lift the gun to his head and pull the trigger—

He realizes then how much Hugh's come to mean to him, how fucked he is when this job is over. Cal's always managed to hold himself aloof during productions, but this time he's failed. This time he's involved, willing or not. Heart, body and soul: Hugh's managed to engage _all_ of him.

He's so fucking screwed.

He punches a hole in the wall of his hotel room and goes down to the bar, his hand throbbing painfully. The knuckles are scraped and swollen, and he wonders how much damage he's done.

Sitting at the wooden bar, he orders a shot of whisky. He stares at the glass of amber liquid and tries to remember all the reasons why he gave up booze to begin with. None of them seem very important right at this moment.

Cal picks up the glass and touches it to his lips and then sets it back down. No. He's not doing this. Not again.

* * *

## For No One

Edmonton. They're almost done. A few more days and the filming will be finished.

They rehearse the radio interview scene repeatedly, he and Dean, while Bruce watches impassively. They try it as scripted, with Billy telling Terry the radio guy about the offer from Jennifur, one big fuck-you to Joe and the band. They try it the other way, with Billy holding his cards close to his chest, being interviewed on-air and giving nothing away.

For Cal, it feels most natural somewhere in between. Billy's excited about the offer, maybe feeling a little smug and vindicated. He's going to L.A., he's leaving Hard Core Logo and Joe and Canada behind, but somewhere inside, he knows the betrayal is going to _destroy_ Joe.

Noel rushes in late and sees how the scene's being rehearsed, pulls Callum aside and tries to convince him to play Billy as the total backstabbing asshole. Cal doesn't see it, can't see it and they argue for a few minutes before Noel gives it up as a lost cause.

Later that night, after they've filmed the band falling apart on the prairies, with Joe scolding the band members, Hugh corners Cal and asks why he backed off on the radio interview scene.

Cal is dumbstruck. "What the fuck do you mean?"

"I mean that you're a chicken-shit, you pussied out on the scene, didn't play Billy the way he was meant to be played." With every word, Hugh's voice gets uglier. "Too worried about what people will think of you, too afraid to show them what's real." There's something close to contempt in Hugh's blue eyes, and it makes Cal feel small and defensive.

Cal opens his mouth to tell Hugh to fuck off and for a brief instant he sees _two_ Hughs, except that one of them is actually Joe. He snaps his mouth shut, wondering how long _he's_ been confusing Joe and Hugh and Billy and Callum together, tangling their lives and feelings together into one big fucked-up mess.

He turns and walks away, doesn't hear Hugh calling him back. Walks away and doesn't look back.

* * *

## Tomorrow Never Knows

He works hard at keeping himself busy the next few months. A couple of bad TV shows, no substance or depth, but he likes playing the villains; he's working on perfecting his evil laugh. Bit parts in a couple of movies, nothing worth remembering.

Liz sends him a script for a movie and he falls in love with the character. Cal's never seen a character so broken by an ordinary life and it fascinates him. He jumps on the part and ends up back in Toronto.

Callum finds himself unconsciously haunting their old hang-outs in his spare time, feeling like a ghost searching for the one person who breathes life into him.

He seriously contemplates taking up drinking again, but can't bring himself to do it. He _likes_ the Callum he is now, aware of that particular lifelong addiction and how to deal with it. He can look at himself in the mirror, can meet his own blue eyes and not flinch away.

It's the first time in _years_ he's been able to do that, and he doesn't want to give that up.

* * *

## Love You To

Callum dresses up in what Hugh called his 'incognito' outfit: ball cap, dark clothes, sunglasses, and heads out to the theater. The movie opened yesterday and he figures that an afternoon matinée isn't going to be crowded.

He wants to see this on the big screen, undisturbed and unobserved. He doesn't want to have to mask his reactions, to worry about what's showing on his face or in his body language.

He needs—an ending. With that, he can put the whole thing behind him, chalk it up to a strange version of a whirlwind movie-set romance, and get on with his life.

He watches, unmoving, as the story of Hard Core Logo plays across the screen, grinding to its inexorable, bloody conclusion. Even though he knows it's not real, the scene with Hugh—no, with _Joe_, almost makes him throw up. He flinches back into the seat and swallows hard, repeatedly.

He sits there long after the credits have rolled, feeling naked and exposed, wondering what he's done.

* * *

## Got To Get You Into My Life

There is a message on his answering machine when he gets home. He flicks the playback button and hears the rough, sexy voice that he's tried to forget, the voice that he hears whispering in his ear on long, dark nights when the loneliness is almost unbearable.

_"Rennie, I've let you avoid me for almost six months. Time to talk, you fucker. I'm in town, come have dinner with me tonight at Tojo's. Reservations are for 8:30. If you're not there I'll hunt you down and kick your ass." Beep._

Cal dresses as casually as he thinks he could get away with, trying to pretend that this dinner isn't as important as it really is. He gets to the restaurant early, but Hugh's already there. He stands up as Cal approaches, and Cal can't tear his eyes away. He'd always guessed that Hugh would clean up nice, but this—this was beyond his wildest expectations.

Slate blue shirt, dark suit jacket and slacks, all crisp and neat. Hugh's hair has grown out long from the Mohawk; Cal's fingers itch to feel it. As a concession to the fuck-you punk rocker under the suit, Hugh's got on a big silver hoop in one earlobe, several beaded necklaces and a clunky ring that matches the one on Callum's index finger.

Hugh gestures to the other chair and sits back down, a mocking grin on his face. "You look good, Cal."

"Fuck you, Dillon."

"After dinner, maybe."

Cal tries really hard to keep the grin off of his face, but loses the battle in the end.

They spend the evening catching up on all the things that had happened since they'd last seen each other. Hugh tells him about the new album and the upcoming tour, how happy he was with the new material, how worried he was about staying clean on the road.

Callum talks about his most recent movie, tells Hugh about the lost soul he played and how he _understood_ him, made a connection with this strung-out junkie with his occasional moments of clarity and brilliance and vulnerability.

Hugh gives him a penetrating glance. "You understand, huh? Well, why don't you explain it to me, then? Explain to me why my best buddy had been avoiding me, won't talk to me, doesn't trust me."

Cal sighs and fiddles with his lighter. "It's not you I don't trust. It's me." He lights another cigarette to give himself something to do with his hands. "It's me that I don't trust."

* * *

## Here, There And Everywhere

Callum picks up the phone and dials, pulling the box closer and pulling out a publicity photo, him and Hugh sitting in front of a car, grunged out, wearing their best 'fuck-you' looks. Two punks. The picture makes him feel a little old, a little sad.

He hears a faint click and then a familiar, gruff voice grunts, "Yeah, what?"

"Dillon, you asshole, where have you been? You haven't called in fucking forever."

Hugh chuckles. "Been busy, Rennie."

And it's like they were never apart.

-fin-


End file.
